


Too Much Love Will Kill You (Or I Fucking Will)

by PeachGO3



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Gay Marriage, Homophobia, M/M, Making Up, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Love, ex boyfriends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 02:19:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19241839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachGO3/pseuds/PeachGO3
Summary: Gabriel is a douche, a cursing priest and still not over his ex-boyfriend Aziraphale. But when he finds out that no church is willing to marry off Aziraphale and his new partner, he moves Heaven and Hell for them.There is nowan extended versionof this fic! If you haven't read the short version yet, please come check out the long one!





	Too Much Love Will Kill You (Or I Fucking Will)

**Author's Note:**

> edit: I added a brief scene between Aziraphale and Crowley after posting.

Living in London did have certain perks, compared to the American Middle West. Food was a lot better (Gabriel would only miss T-Ravs, and he could make those by himself here anyway), he had proper health insurance, people were generally healthier (he would _still_ eat T-Ravs) – but most important of all: no one cared that he wasn’t heterosexual. Literally no one. Not that his deanery knew. But he was a gay priest and none of his colleagues batted an eye. Amazing. No one knew. Still. No one was interested. It was refreshing.

Some of his parishioners must know, for sure, but his sexuality belonged to his private life, and he liked to keep it private. He had come to terms with himself in his early twenties. Before that, his religious feelings had often clashed with his desires, but somewhere along the line he had figured – God didn’t care. Homosexuality wasn’t a sin that someone chose to commit (unlike, say, harassing poor altar boys). It was part of your being and thus part of God’s holy creation. By now, almost fifty, Gabriel was sure he was part of God’s Great Plan, as were all Children of God. He felt safe nowadays and did not have to fear getting beaten up. His teenage days had been horrible, but now, he was at peace, at absolute peace with himself.

Nice. His sexuality wasn’t a problem.

His past relationship with Aziraphale was.

Aziraphale and he had been dating for almost nineteen months. Secretly, of course. Aziraphale was a bookseller in Soho, a notorious nerve-wrack and an angel incarnate. He was a person that felt like a cozy, worn-out, old-fashioned sofa, welcoming and sweet. He was Gabriel’s whole world.

But he was gone.

Aziraphale had broken up with him years ago. He would often say that it wasn’t a real break-up because they never had a real relationship in the first place, but for Gabriel, it sure felt like one. He had really let himself go – ice cream, loud music, all of that – and fought himself back to a stable lifestyle. He told himself he was stable, but in silent moments he realized he had just internalized his self-hatred and his anger for his poor Aziraphale. It was horrible, but he couldn’t help it.

The worst thing was that Gabriel still ran into Aziraphale from time to time. It wasn’t seldom enough to not care and not often enough to get used to it. He was never prepared for it. How were you supposed to get over someone when you still bumped into them ever so often?

The Almighty was obviously playing games with him. As she was today, when Gabriel was jogging in St James’s Park, and ran past Aziraphale, who just purchased ice cream from a vendor.

Careful to look casual, Gabriel went backwards and greeted his ex with a wave and a smile.

“Gabriel, hello,” Aziraphale said with a thin smile.

“What a surprise,” Gabriel said with his fists on his hips (what else was he supposed to do?). There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence as Aziraphale waited for his ice cream. He still wore tartan, but he had put on weight since Gabriel last saw him. Gabriel decided to comment on that, although he hated himself the very second he spoke: “You look good. A bit more tummy though.”

Aziraphale smiled an even thinner smile.

“Still like eating out? Sushi and such?” he continued.

“Yes.”

“Well, I, too, like eating out,” Gabriel went on, “just not sushi. But I do like eating out. Another type of eating out, y’know.”

Aziraphale sighed and even his eyes widened with annoyance. “What do you want?” he asked, restrained. Gabriel’s face softened with sadness. “I wanted to talk to you,” he said truthfully.

“Well, you’re still not very good at it,” Aziraphale snapped and took his ice cream, a strawberry popsicle and a vanilla with a fucking flake (gosh, he was so cute). “Two at a time?” Gabriel teased, but Aziraphale just went past him. He handed the popsicle to a man who was slouching on a nearby bench. Dressed all black, wearing ridiculous sunglasses on this cloudy day. And so fucking ginger that Gabriel was convinced the hair was dyed and even the hairstylist hated it.

What the fuck?

“Who’s that?” Gabriel asked with a smile so forced that his face hurt.

The man greeted him with a lazy wave of his hand. Aziraphale straightened up. “This, Gabriel, is Anthony. Anthony, Gabriel.”

“Right,” Gabriel said and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” The handshake was rather flabby (lefthanded, because the popsicle was in his right hand). That guy was the definition of slack, he smelled terrible. He didn’t even smile. And he wore a ring on his left hand. So did Aziraphale.

Oh, no fucking way. No. Way.

“Ahh, so, err, you two,” Gabriel stammered, eloquently.

“Yes,” Aziraphale confirmed. He sat down beside that slacker and his eyes fluttered for a brief moment as he smiled sweetly. The slacker had less of a problem of rubbing their engagement in Gabriel’s face – he threw a possessive arm around Aziraphale and smiled so smugly that Gabriel could’ve killed him there and then.

“Well,” he said a bit too loud, “good for you.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said. He had waited for his new companion to answer, but that guy would just stare at Gabriel through his stupid shades and ostentatiously did nothing. Gabriel sent a fervent prayer towards Heaven to calm down. He nodded and stepped back as the slacker licked his popsicle so lasciviously that even Aziraphale shifted in discomfort. “Well,” he said again, “nice talking to you. Especially to you, Anthony.”

The slacker grinned in acknowledgement.

Gabriel had to get away from here. He wasn’t jogging anymore. He was rage-running. Who the hell was that guy? Who does he think he is? His Aziraphale deserved an angel, not some priggish asshole. Gabriel could not possibly know, but he was sure that douche wore shades inside. Seemed like that kind of prick.

He wished he could run more angrily. Aziraphale would get married.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you, pater.”

“I thank you, Mrs. Williams,” Gabriel greeted back. Saying goodbye to every single one of his parishioners after the divine service was usually wholesome and boosted his self-esteem, but today he couldn’t care less. He still had to smile. And felt the statue of Mary judging him from behind.

In his mind, he was already buying mental sushi. Aziraphale’s bookshop was one of those tiny, overly packed stores that had no opening hours restrictions and was thus opened on Sundays, too. ‘Keeping the sabbath day’ wasn’t like that, but oh well. He would visit his angel and bring him his stupid sushi. A new take-away restaurant had opened in Westminster, and Gabriel had heard their sushi was exquisite. He would never buy anything less for his angel, even if it was disgusting raw fish and soy sauce.

Gabriel dressed in his most dapper turtleneck (dove gray), his favorite shoes and that purple scarf Aziraphale used to like so much.

An engagement did not necessarily mean a wedding, he had realized over the course of days. Aziraphale did not _have_ to marry that idiot douchebag. He was a committed person, no doubt, but that other guy seemed anything like he was in for the long run. An engagement could be broken. It surely wasn’t something long-lasting.

Gabriel arrived at the shabby little bookshop in Soho, crowded as ever, with great excitement. Aziraphale would love this little snack. For a moment, he was distracted by the vintage Bentley that parked right in front of the shop. Exquisite. Not a scratch.

He pushed the door open with the familiar ring. And was greeted by the familiar chaos and the painfully familiar smell of old books and cocoa. “Hello,” he called with a grin, not minding the other customers. After a few seconds, Aziraphale’s blond head popped up from behind a shelf. He wore those tiny glasses again. “Hello, Gabriel,” he greeted with unease.

“Hiya,” Gabriel beamed and leaned in for a hug. Aziraphale hugged him back, half-heartedly so, but he hugged back. “How you doing? Business going well?” Gabriel wanted to know.

“I can’t complain,” Aziraphale replied. By God, had he missed that English accent. Aziraphale pointed to the white paper bag in Gabriel’s hands. “What’s that?”

“Oh, that’s just a little something,” Gabriel smiled with failed understatement, “from a sushi joint nearby. Reminded me of you. I got you some of your faves – those big ones, with the sesame? And some salad ones, by the chef’s recommendation, they're his own creation. And some more.” He handed Aziraphale the bag with joy and tried really hard to not look at the ring on his finger – gold with a gem. Crap.

“I also got you their card, so you can look them up. I heard they must be really good,” Gabriel continued.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said with nervously pursed lips – sweeter than sugar. “I’ll go upstairs to put them in the fridge.”

“You should eat them while they’re fresh,” Gabriel recommended helpfully, but Aziraphale just shifted strangely. “I’m eating out today, actually,” he said.

Gabriel’s face softened. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

There was an uncomfortable pause and Gabriel folded his hands in awkwardness, which wasn’t like him at all. “So, err, where you going?”

“Oh, I don’t think…” Aziraphale began, but Gabriel was faster: “Yes, I know, it’s none of my business. Sorry.” He put his hands back into his coat’s pockets and looked down.

Finally, Aziraphale broke. “The Ritz, actually.”

“Oh,” Gabriel just said. Really? He didn’t want to know. They’ve always wanted to go there. Together, ideally. “That’s… great,” he said, agonized.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it. Anthony got us a table.”

“Of course,” Gabriel laughed. Of fucking course he did. “Gabriel, please,” Aziraphale whispered to not disturb the customers, “you’re being ridiculous. He did nothing to you.”

“You’re right. He didn’t even talk to me.”

Aziraphale’s brows furrowed. “He’s not very sociable, sorry.”

“Yeah, no,” Gabriel snarled, “I get it. He’s above it all, he’s better than everyone else.” He swallowed. “Better than me.”

“Alright, please leave,” Aziraphale said and pointed to the door. “We are not having this conversation, Gabriel, please leave.”

“Yeah, have fun at the Ritz. Did he come right after me? Or were there any others?”

“Leave.”

“You won’t marry him, will you?” Gabriel asked with desperation, ignoring what he had just heard.

“I will,” Aziraphale said loudly, “and he will marry me, and you can’t do anything against it.”

“I would’ve married you,” Gabriel uttered, voice all low and broken. “I would’ve given up priesthood just to be able to marry you.” He felt his eyes water. No, not now…

“Look, I am sorry, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said. “But you are not. And that’s why you’re going to leave. Now.”

Just then, someone descended the corkscrew stairs. It was Douchebag. Wearing shades. Gabriel bit back his tears in frustration. He looked amazing, alright. He got them a table at Ritz. Alright. At least he didn't look much younger than Gabriel did.

“Hey, angel. Is he bothering you?”

_Angel._

Yeah, that’s it. “Goodbye,” Gabriel said with burning eyes and stormed outside. He had trouble not screaming on the street. And he tried really hard to not turn back, but he did anyway, and through the window he saw how they hugged, how Douchebag pointed to the bag of sushi and how they smiled their beautiful smiles. That Bentley was probably his, too.

Gabriel snapped. He yelled ‘fuck’ at the ground and twisted in agony.

Why his angel?

 

* * *

 

How had he never realized his feelings? Sure, he had never really forgotten Aziraphale, he had very strong feelings about him still, and about their shared past. Their quiet evenings, their wild nights, their trip to New York City, when Gabriel had bought him cotton candy in Central Park. Had Aziraphale not understood how difficult it was for him, as a catholic priest, to have a romantic relationship? With a man, for that matter? Had he not seen how careful Gabriel had to be around him? What kind of effort a sexual relationship meant?

Bullshit, he had seen all of that. Surely. Or had he?

Gabriel slapped himself in the face. All these years after the break-up, his feelings had just been… bottled-up. Their true nature had been unleashed only now, and that nature was vicious and unforgiving and ugly.

He cried into his pillow and prayed. Told God about his desperation. Prayers helped.

And what God showed him was the thing he wanted to see the least: Aziraphale and his new partner hugging in the bookshop and Aziraphale smiling. Gabriel remembered. How Aziraphale smiled with his eyes full of joy, his whole body full of bliss. How he never, ever, in their days together, had smiled at Gabriel like that.

He was happy now. He loved that slacker guy. He truly did, with all of his precious, little heart. “He’s his fiancé,” Gabriel said out loud to convince himself. “His fiancé.”

And he was happy. Wasn’t that all that counted? Aziraphale’s happiness.

‘If he can’t be happy with me, he shouldn’t be happy at all’ – that was a douchebag way of thinking. Gabriel shouldn’t think like this. Hell, he didn’t _want_ to think like that. Aziraphale should be happy. His angel ought to be happy.

Gabriel knew he had appointments for pastoral counseling tomorrow, but he still got up to pour himself a glass of whiskey. It burnt his throat and tasted as miserable as he felt. It rained outside. A second glass wouldn’t hurt anyone.

He sighed. He had to apologize.

 

The next day, he telephoned the bookshop (probably better to not show up there anytime soon). It wasn’t Aziraphale who picked up the phone, but Anthony: “Fell’s Bookshop.” Gabriel sucked in a breath before speaking. He stared at himself in the mirroring glass, in his black cassock, and silently greeted nurses that passed him by. “Hey, err, Anthony. It’s me, Gabriel.”

“Ha. How can I help you, pater?”

“Actually, I, erm… I just wanted to apologize.”

“On the phone?” Anthony’s voice was high-pitched with anger. “On the bloody phone? Even though you ruined his life for a solid year and a half?”

Gabriel felt his eyes flutter. “I’m sorry for how I behaved yesterday. Listen, I-”

“No, _you_ listen. You have been an absolute monster. He told me everything.”

“It’s perfectly right for him to do that,” Gabriel said with closed eyes. He had to remain calm.

“Damn right. He cried on my bloody shoulder.” Anthony’s voice morphed into a dangerous hiss as he added, “You’re damn lucky you’re not in my arm’s reach right now, asshole.”

Gabriel leaned back against to wall to breathe. Stay calm.

Anthony seemed content with himself. “Anything left to say?”

“Yeah. Please tell him I’m sorry. I understand if he doesn’t want to talk to me right now. He doesn’t have to forgive me. Just tell him that I’m sorry. Please,” Gabriel said with finality.

“Will do.”

“’kay.” Gabriel nodded to himself. “If there’s anything I can do for you… y’know.” Anthony hummed. “Yeah. Bye.”

And they hung up. Gabriel closed his eyes, but a nurse’s voice brought him back to reality rather quickly: “Excuse me, pater, but telephoning inside is forbidden.” Gabriel looked into her worn-out face and nodded. He got outside and took a cab to his next appointment.

How could he ever possibly love that man? How could Aziraphale ever love him?

 

* * *

 

Preparing for a mass had never been more demanding. Gabriel’s kyrie eleison was way more intense than usual, even though he did not intent to sound so broken when he said it. His preachment was even worse, because he was close to choking up everytime he looked at the angel statues in the nave. Fucking drama queen, calm down.

“It’s important,” he said from the pulpit, “that we ask God for forgiveness, because only the Almighty can forgive our sins. But never forget,” he continued, “that we must also ask our Neighbor for forgiveness. If we want to live the gospel in Christ, then we have to be able to forgive as well. Don’t hold any grudges against your Neighbor. It is not your position to judge. Forgive them and love them.” The only true rule there is.

“Amen,” he says.

Once the divine service had ended and Gabriel had said goodbye to the parishioners with many, many handshakes, he noticed a man standing by the statue of the Virgin Mary. He wore a fashionable black hat and things that looked like snakeskin shoes. Gabriel stepped closer.

“She likes those flowers, doesn’t she,” Anthony mused. “The lilies you mean?” Gabriel asked and stood beside him. Anthony hummed. He had taken off his shades. “I liked the little speech you gave,” he murmured.

“Thank you.”

He sighed and avoided looking at Gabriel. “You know, I always thought I was… you know, unforgivable.”

“No one is,” Gabriel assured him. “In front of God, at least.” He brought himself to smile. “Nice to meet you here. Didn’t think you were one for churches.”

“I’m not,” Anthony said, suddenly defensively smug again, but before he put the sunglasses back onto his face, Gabriel caught a glimpse at his eyes – beautiful amber, golden even, and sparkling with wit. Curious.

“Nice dress-up,” he commented.

“I was going to say the same to you,” Gabriel smiled, “but now I’m not.”

“Fine with me. Nice confessional box over there, too.”

Gabriel followed his pointing finger. With his everlasting slouch, Anthony looked like a misplaced rock star. “Do you want to confess?” he asked by force of habit, but in a genuine voice.

“Tse, me? Hell no, we’d spend the whole day in there. I just think it looks sexy,” Anthony laughed nervously. Gabriel faltered. “What I said is true,” he murmured, “you’re far from unforgivable, Anthony. I really mean that.” He side-eyed the white lilies. “God always forgives. However, you two are not obliged to do so. Regarding me, I mean. I fully understand if he doesn’t want to see me again.”

“Yeah, about that,” Anthony began and fumbled with his ring. Gabriel turned in surprise. “You see,” Anthony said and walked around a bit, “Aziraphale would really, really like to have a church wedding.”

“Does he?” Gabriel asked and followed him.

“Yep. Kind of important to him. Religion. He’s romantic like that. Still goes to church. You know.”

Gabriel smiled, but it hurt to no end. “I do,” he said.

“Money’s not an issue,” Anthony continued, “and neither am I, I’m totally fine with it. The problem is…” He made a disgusted sounding noise. Gabriel understood and almost laughed out of bitter grievance. And Anthony sighed in agreement. “Not a single church in the area. Neither the Church of England, nor the Catholics want to marry off two men. Which shouldn’t surprise anyone, really.”

“Anthony,” Gabriel said with emphasis, “just so you know – those are humans speaking, not God.” He felt his chest warm up with anger and humiliation. So his angel wasn’t allowed to marry in any church, huh. Fucking homophobes.

“God,” Anthony repeated thoughtfully. “Hm. Anyway, I thought, hey, his ex is a priest (“Shh” made Gabriel and looked around in panic), maybe he could do something about it. I didn’t really think it would work, but he insisted on me coming here.”

Gabriel sucked in a breath. Aziraphale did? Why didn’t he come here himself then? “Is he still angry with me?” Gabriel asked, trying to keep his voice firm. Why did he ask? He didn’t even want to know.

“He’s not,” Anthony said casually. “He has to keep the shop opened, you know. That’s why I’m alone. It was his idea of you helping us out ‘if we need anything’.”

“I see,” Gabriel sighed, but he sighed in relief. Then he looked up, and he would’ve looked into Anthony’s eyes if it wasn’t for those shades, and did not think, saying, “You can marry in this church.”

Anthony frowned. “What makes you so sure of that? No offense, but several priests we asked before said the same thing. And in the end, nothing happened.”

“Not this time,” Gabriel assured him, and all of a sudden, he meant every word of it. “I’ll take care of it. Catholic Church and two thousand years of Doctrine, ha, how hard can it be?”

Anthony nodded. He slightly turned away. “If you say so. We’re going for June, by the way.”

“’kay, nice to know,” Gabriel said. There was pause as Anthony eyed the Holy water next to the door, and then Gabriel said, just to get it off his chest, “He looks happy when he’s with you. It’s been a very long time since I’ve last seen him smile like that.”

“I can only speak for myself,” Anthony said with failed nonchalance, “but he certainly makes me very happy. He’s pretty much perfect. I never could’ve asked for nothing more.”

“He is,” Gabriel smiled.

“Say,” Anthony continued, “have you ever shagged in that confessional box?”

Gabriel’s head cracked. “Get the fuck out of this church.”

 

* * *

 

So, next up – Gabriel met with his ex-boyfriend and his new fiancé. For a coffee. Well, he took a coffee, Aziraphale went with cocoa, and Anthony drank tea. But even before ordering their drinks, there was unnecessary drama: “Ohh, wait a minute, no way,” Anthony said, “there’s no way I’m sitting in-between you guys. Come on.” He shifted and crawled over Aziraphale’s lab so that he felt no longer as awkward. Gabriel put his hands on his legs and sat still, looking at the tabletop. Aziraphale did the same. The space between them wasn’t that big, but big enough to feel like shifting closer – no one did, of course.

But, after a while, Aziraphale said, “Good thing to have you here.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel answered thinly.

Until the waitress brought their drinks, there was silence. Now, Gabriel cleared his throat and was the first to speak: “I’m very happy that you decided to marry in a church. To make that bond in the presence of God is the capstone of every romantic relationship.”

“Stop with that priest speak,” Anthony begged, but Aziraphale was quick to silence him. “Gabriel is right. It’s a wonderful moment and I don’t want to miss it,” he said.

Anthony rowed back. “Sorry. I’m being too cynical about this.”

“You sure are,” Gabriel smiled forcefully. What a prick.

“No one’s asked you,” Anthony hissed back (and that hiss was uncomfortable as fuck, urgh).

“Anyway,” Aziraphale intervened as Gabriel drank far too much of his coffee, “it’s very kind of you to offer your help in the matter.” Gabriel nodded in friendly acknowledgement. The atmosphere was tense.

“There’s a lot at stake for you after all. However,” Aziraphale continued, “we also understand if things won’t work out. So… I don’t know, don’t overdo, I guess.”

“We will see how things work out,” Gabriel said in a diplomatic voice. He would do this for Aziraphale, and Aziraphale alone. “Last night I went through the catechism again, and it truly says that marriage is between a man and a woman, becoming one, baring offspring et cetera.”

Bummed silence.

“But,” Gabriel continued enthusiastically, “if we take a look at the Fidei Depositum by Pope John Paul II…” – he whipped out his phone to read – “…is says here ‘The catechism is meant to encourage and assist in the writing of new local catechisms, which must take into account various situations and cultures, while carefully preserving the unity of faith and fidelity to Catholic doctrine’.” He smiled at Aziraphale.

“So?” Anthony went. “That’s basically nothing.”

“It’s a weak argument, I agree,” Gabriel said, “because it’s human-made. The Bible however, meaning, God’s Word, says nothing against same-sex marriage.”

“You checked that, too?” Aziraphale asked, and Gabriel paused before he replied, “Didn’t have to check again. Checked long before. Have checked it a long time ago.”

Aziraphale smiled sadly and looked down.

“So,” Gabriel continued, but Anthony spoke over him: “Wait, wait, wait. The Bible says nothing against marriage, but against homosexuality as it is, doesn’t it?”

Gabriel blinked. “No. When the Bible says ‘men shall not lie with men as they do with women’ – that only means men should not rape other men.”

Uncomfortable silence. Women in biblical times weren’t exactly lucky. “That’s what it means,” Gabriel said with a forced smile, and Anthony did not ask again. “So, and considering above all that Jesus Christ said to love and respect thy Neighbor, I don’t think this is a problem of faith. It’s not anymore, for me at least. It’s a problem of human-made constructs and dogmatic exegesis.”

“It’s so kind of you to say that,” Aziraphale murmured, “but I don’t think you’ve got anyone on your side with this, Gabriel. Some of the priests we’ve talked to said they would theoretically give us their blessing, but none even talked about a wedding service.” He sighed. “’It’s different’ they said. We’ve considered a blessing, but they don’t do that in churches. Just in private. It’s a fight against windmills.”

Gabriel pressed his lips together, but he couldn’t restrain himself. “Bullshit. You will get your wedding. With guests, with church register, with flowers and fucking wedding pigeons. In my church.”

“I love pigeons,” Aziraphale smiled. Anthony said nothing.

“I will talk to my deanery, I will get it figured out.”

“You’re aware that that would be the world’s first same-sex marriage in a catholic church, right?” Anthony reminded him helpfully.

“I am aware of that, yes. Otherwise it wouldn’t be as fun, would it?” Gabriel beamed. “Let’s kick those fuckers in their sorry asses.” Aziraphale wanted to agree, but he just smiled thinly and said, “You know, for a priest, you’re cursing a whole lot, dear.”

“I like it,” Anthony grinned and gave Gabriel an approving look through his shades. “The Almighty may forgive me,” Gabriel said and got up. “So, June, right? How many guests do you plan on inviting?”

The betrothed looked at each other briefly. “Nearly ten. Not more, actually,” Aziraphale said. “Ten max? Well, there will be more if people find out that’s the first same-sex marriage, hm?” Gabriel sang and took his coat. “I’m leaving some pounds for the coffee.”

“Oh, no, that’s my treat,” Anthony said, smiling.

Oh. “Thanks.”

“You sound surprised,” Anthony teased.

“Well, he hasn’t gotten to know you yet, my dearest,” Aziraphale said and took his hand. He smiled so tenderly… Such a cute couple, weren’t they. Gabriel left. He was in battle-mode now. Time to kick some ass.

 

* * *

 

“I have no idea what came over you, pater,” Sandalphon said, smiling, with his terribly white teeth. “What do your deacons say about it?”

“They agree it’s a lovely idea,” Gabriel said truthfully. He raised them good. The deanery, however, was agonizing as usual. He had to wait for two weeks before having this conversation, because there were, apparently, more important things to talk about – harassing altar boys wasn’t on that list, naturally.

Sandalphon gnashed his teeth. “More importantly, what does God say about it, hm, Gabriel?”

“I prayed a lot the last days. And she thinks it’s a lovely idea as well. Always happy about people testifying their faith and love in the front of her,” Gabriel said, well aware that Dean Sandalphon isn’t very fond of him using female pronouns. The dean’s face hardened further. “You are a pain in the nose,” he said.

“I’m glad to be. Stagnation is not our mission,” Gabriel smiled, but in truth he was terribly annoyed by both Sandalphon and his stupid clock ticking above his desk. “We have to keep moving forward, otherwise how will we continue existing? How many young people do you see going to church anymore?”

“People can choose to follow God and they can choose to abandon him,” Sandalphon said complacently. “It is what it is.”

“Well, maybe it is because we treat them like shit,” Gabriel said. He smiled aggressively. “Women, young people, the LGBT community. They don’t feel welcomed here.”

“Keep your identity politics out of this, Gabriel,” Sandalphon spat, “God welcomes everyone.”

“She does,” Gabriel said, “but you don’t, apparently.”

“Marriage is between a man and woman,” Sandalphon said with finality. “It’s Nature’s Law, and thus God’s Law, and no supreme court can change that. Marriage is a fruitful union and symbolizes God’s bond with humanity, that’s why there’s two sexes. The gays can happily live together, I don’t even care, but we mustn’t treat their unions as marriages, Gabriel. Over and out.”

Gabriel nodded and was almost tempted to flip the table in front of him. It’s the same bullshit all over again. Sandalphon leaned back, content with his little monologue, and in turn, Gabriel leaned forward to say, “And that’s why no one likes you.”

“This conversation is over,” Sandalphon smiled, “and because I’m such a kind person you won’t face any consequences for your behavior. The bishopric will learn about it, of course. Just a reprimand.”

Gabriel wasn’t ready to give up, but he was running out of things to say, because this douche was rendering him quite speechless. “People like you,” he said with an astonishingly firm voice, “are the reason we live in self-hatred and bigotry.”

Sandalphon slowly raised his eyebrows.

Oh. No. He said it.

“I see. So that’s where you’re coming from,” Sandalphon said in the most disgusting voice Gabriel had ever heard. “There’s conversion therapy for those things, you know,” he said, smiling. Gabriel shuddered. He got up and rushed out without saying goodbye.

Tunnel vision. And his stomach hurt. Shit, shit, shit. He wasn’t over it, was he? He was still not over it. All those years, he had lied to himself. He still wasn’t at peace.

Before he could speak a fervent prayer, he bumped into a young woman outside the building. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“I’m alright,” she said. She was wearing a bright red jacket, how could he not have seen her? Tunnel vision, probably.

“Excuse me, sir,” she began, and Gabriel listened. “Are you the nearby parish’s priest?”

“I am,” Gabriel answered and offered his hand. He wasn’t crying, so that was good. And a convo was nice distraction from the contractions in his stomach. She shook his hand rather firmly. “My name is Pepper, I’m a feminist journalist. Not to sound weird, but I listened to your conversation back at Café du Ciel some days ago and have now followed you here.”

“Nope, not weird at all,” Gabriel said and flashed his brightest smile. She did not seem too impressed. Had she been stalking him for the past weeks? “I’m eager to learn more about your undertaking. Is it true that you want to marry off a queer couple in your church, here in London?”

Gabriel paused. “Please don’t write about it. I mean, your job’s valid and important, no question, but I don’t want any media attention, and neither does the couple, I’m sure.”

“Media attention would certainly help you in this fight,” Pepper said unimpressed, “and positive actions like these are empowering for the community. It’s revolutionary.”

“Yes, I know,” Gabriel smiled, trying to think of something. Aziraphale would kill him if there were any journalists or paparazzi at his wedding. Or his face in the newspaper. Gabriel wouldn’t mind. He would cut and frame it.

“Sir,” Pepper said.

“Yes. Errm, I will talk about it with my friends. Do you have a card or so?”

“I’m on Twitter,” she said drily. Gabriel nodded. “Okay. Fine. I’ll find you. We’ll stay in touch.”

“Looking forward,” she sang without smiling and turned on her heels to disappear.

Funny, huh. Like bumping into a feminist angel.

Just as he thought that, Gabriel’s phone vibrated. ‘Unknown’ had sent a message. Gabriel’s head spun. He had to sit down.

 

_‘it’s anthony crowley. haven’t heard from you in a while. you ok?’_

 

Oh. What?

“Fuck,” Gabriel sighed. He rubbed his face. This must be a faith experience, no doubt. Holy Mother of Jesus. What now? Should he call him? He should call him. One beep. Two. Three…

“Hello? Pater?”

He sucked in a breath. “Hi, Anthony.”

There was some silence. Gabriel could hear business background noise. “Sorry. Am I interrupting anything?”

A pause. “You’re not,” Anthony said. “Are you alright? You sound tired.”

Gabriel’s eyes watered. Tired, yeah, you could call it that. He rubbed his face again. Don’t cry, don’t cry. “Anthony, I… I…”

And then he broke. He sobbed. His tears flowed freely, and he tried to shield his face with his hand. He was still in public, but he felt like a fifteen-year-old in Missouri all over again. His stomach hurt, his chest ached with a stinging pain. He burnt.

“Gabriel. Gabriel, what is it? Talk to me.”

And he did. He talked. They talked for almost an hour. And unsurprisingly, it was good to talk to someone. Pastoral counselling was important, sure, but apparently he needed someone to unburden his heart to as well. About religious upbringing, about suppressed feelings towards other boys in class. About how similar their lives had been up to a certain point. About Aziraphale and how open he was towards these feelings.

“I thought I met an angel on Earth,” Gabriel remembered. “With his quirks and his fancy accent and his little tummy, even though I tried to make him lose some weight.”

“His tummy is amazing, isn’t it,” Anthony said on the other end, and Gabriel could hear his smile. He chuckled. “I agree. Very soft.”

“Incredibly soft,” said Anthony. He paused for a moment. “He’s an angel. And sometimes I wonder whether I even deserve him.”

“Don’t say that,” Gabriel heard himself say. “Angels come in all shapes and colors. They are heaven-sent. They come to us when in need.”

“He came to you, too, Gabriel.”

Gabriel blinked. “Yeah, well. Gay priest in secrecy, and a total douche. Heavy drinker. I understand he didn’t want that. Hell, I wouldn’t want that.”

Anthony paused for a while. He said, “Remember what you told me about forgiveness. How about you forgive yourself once in a while, hm?”

Gabriel laughed. “What a concept.”

“Consider it. Helped me a lot.”

“I will.”

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for your effort, Gabriel.”

He sighed. “I wish I could’ve done more.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You’ve done enough. You don’t condemn us, for a start.” He smiled wearily. Raindrops hit the bookshop’s window. Would only be a short shower, surely. It still felt like angels crying.

“I’ve accidently outed myself, too,” Gabriel said, half joking, half serious. He was very bitter about it.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale sighed, his face full of worry.

“I’ll most certainly loose my job,” he said calmly. He had arranged himself with that future over the last day. He had drunken a lot.

“Oh, dear, no,” Aziraphale sighed and shifted closer. “Gabriel, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all human-made, no big deal,” Gabriel smiled, “God doesn’t judge me.” He finally brought himself to look into Aziraphale’s eyes, and they shone with sorrow. Beautiful and soft.

“It’s not your fault, honeybun,” he said, and Aziraphale looked down again. “Don’t call me that,” he begged, and Gabriel apologized. “Haven’t you been seeing anyone?” he asked, and his voice was full of worry. Gabriel shook his head. “Whenever I met someone,” he remembered, “they didn’t seem worth the risk.”

“I see,” Aziraphale murmured. They sat a while in silence, until Aziraphale said, “I’ll talk to that creepy journalist. Maybe she wants an interview or something.”

“’kay.”

Rain still going. Not strong, but soft and sad. Powerless. Gabriel shifted. “Write me all the details, all your wishes for the wedding. And then, y’know… Let’s antedate, hm? I won’t be defrocked until the end of the month. We still got time.”

Aziraphale looked up again. “What?”

“I’ll just do it. The deacons are fine with it. Organist’s fine with it. I even got a priest to do the ceremony. Just tell your four guests to come two months earlier. We’ll have your wedding in April.” Gabriel smiled sadly. “I would’ve fought more for you, I really would. But I’m afraid my journey comes to an end rather soon. It’s the last thing I can offer.”

“They won’t allow that,” Aziraphale feared, not convinced.

“Who cares? I’m getting thrown out anyway. Might as well go with style.” He laughed. “I’ll write a letter to the bishop to explain myself. Just to be polite. And I’ll take care of the flowers, too.”

“No, err,” Aziraphale said nervously, “Anthony will. He’s a florist, he wanted to do it himself.”

“Oh, wow. That would explain all the plants in here,” Gabriel said and looked around. “They’re gorgeous. I have to ask him about those sometime soon.”

“Well, we’ll see you at the registrar's office next week, won’t we?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Gabriel felt his face distort. That would be tasteless. “Really? After… y’know.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You’ve changed, Gabriel. I want you to be around. And we’ll have the wedding early, if you really don’t mind.”

Gabriel swallowed. “Thank you,” he said quietly and looked at his feet. “I’ve never said it, but, Aziraphale,” he uttered, “I am very, very happy for you. You’re comfortable around him, and Anthony’s a good guy, he really is.” He sucked in a breath. “I want you two to be happy. And I wish you all the best.” Finally he looked at Aziraphale again. And his angel smiled ever so softly.

“Thank you.”

There was a pause as they listened to the rain. Gabriel wanted to ask about the Ritz, if it had been nice, but he didn’t. “May I ask how you two met?” he said instead casually and stood up, ready to leave. Aziraphale accompanied him. “Oh, Anthony and I? We’ve known each other for a long time now, actually. We’ve been friends during the time we were seeing each other, too.”

Gabriel sighed. “I was a terrible boyfriend, wasn’t I. Oh, sorry, you don’t like that word.”

Aziraphale declined and shook his head. “It’s not against the word, I just thought it might have been unfitting for… your profession,” he said. “Well, it’s all the same now.”

Gabriel kept his eyes on him. “It surely was unfitting for them. But not for me,” he said, uncompromising. And Aziraphale gave him a smile. “Thank you, Gabriel, for going through all of this. You could’ve easily stepped aside and condemned us, publicly, like everyone else.”

“Goes without saying, really. I couldn’t look in the mirror if I didn’t stand up for you,” Gabriel said truthfully.

Suddenly, Aziraphale hummed and hawed, fumbling with his fingers. “I, err, wanted to ask you something, actually.”

“Yes?”

“Would you do the ceremony?”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, but Aziraphale got a grip on himself. “Please. I know it’s a bit much, but I wouldn’t want anyone else to do it.”

Gabriel almost melted. He would be damned. “But of course I’ll do it, Aziraphale. Angel.”

“Stop it.” Aziraphale laughed briefly and hesitated for a moment, but then he looked at Gabriel again, taking his hand. He squeezed it gently, the first touch they shared after their break-up. Warm and comforting. Making up. They said goodbye shortly after, and as Gabriel left the bookshop, the sunshine washed down on him like a shower.

 

* * *

 

“He’s very sorry.”

“He should be! After all the things he’d done to you,” Anthony called from behind the curtain. “I’m not saying I’m not happy he’s coming, it’s just good he realised how much of a dick he was to you.”

Aziraphale frowned and fumbled with his hands. “We’re too hard on him, I feel.” He heard his fiancé groan from the changing booth. “We’re not too hard. Au contraire, you’re too good for this world, angel,” he said. Aziraphale sighed. “He is going to do the ceremony. He helped us with everything. And now he’s losing his job because of us.”

“Maybe he’s better off without that priest robe,” Anthony suggested, and Aziraphale knew he was right. Being a catholic priest and in love with the same sex didn’t really go that well together, it was hurtful. “You know, he said he had considered giving up priesthood before,” he said.

“There you go, so don’t blame yourself,” Anthony said.

Just as Aziraphale was about to reply something, the curtain was pulled aside to reveal Anthony in a pitch-black suit. “You went with the tie,” Aziraphale beamed and stood up. He cupped his fiancé’s cheek ere Anthony could put on his sunglasses again.

“How do I look?” he asked plainly.

“Devilishly handsome,” Aziraphale went with a giggle. He let his eyes roam – those trousers were really tight.

“Yeah, appreciate that.” Anthony shifted. “No, really, how do I look?”

Aziraphale’s face softened, and now he got lost in those amber eyes. “Like the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.” He pecked his lips, and Anthony slung both of his arms around him, making him gasp in surprise. “I love you,” he whispered. “And whatever happens after or during our wedding, we’ll go through it together, you hear me?”

“We’ve got some people on our side, you know,” Aziraphale reminded him, trying to distract himself from his own nervousness, but Anthony stayed dead still. “We’re on our own side, angel. Now try on that bloody tartan suit, because I want to see you in it.”

“Why, you’re all hasty now,” Aziraphale teased.

“I’ll be hasty once I get the chance to tear it off you,” Anthony hissed, blushing, and Aziraphale snickered as he drew the curtain.

 

* * *

 

God did not play games, Gabriel had realized. If he was honest with himself, he never actually saw her that way. But whenever he had walked past his ex, when he missed the right exit ramp, when he stumbled while jogging – he felt laughed at. And not laughed at by fellow humans, but by a higher entity that had chosen him specifically to be their jester. But it wasn’t about him, he had realized. Of course it wasn’t.

It was about his mission as a priest. It was about breaking the bread, about listening to the terrible things people confessed to him because they had no one else to talk to. About making sure that love always came first, even if that only meant deleting hateful comments on the parish’s Facebook page. He would gladly do all of that, just out of love for God. Make Heaven a place on Earth, as they say. She was cool. And she was cool with him, too. All Gabriel had to do now was to be cool with himself, too.

 

* * *

 

Aziraphale and Anthony arrived at the registrar's office with their Bentley. In neat suits (black and tartan, respectively). And Anthony wore sunglasses, naturally. Gabriel sighed and accompanied the guests inside. Among them was Pepper – she was a friend of Anthony, as it turned out (made things even stranger, as he thought about it) – and other old friends.

“Took care of our son when we couldn’t,” a man named Arthur Young explained to Gabriel.

“Sorry, Roger Taylor said he couldn’t come,” Anthony said as he and Aziraphale passed them by, all giggly. “C’mon, folks. Let’s go inside.”

The wedding was dry and somewhat comical: Gabriel knew the registrar, a bright young woman. Anathema Device. Worked as a part-time witch. “My first meeting with the two hadn’t been all too charming,” she said at one point in her speech, “because they hit me with their car in the middle of the night.”

There was uncomfortable laughter at that, but Aziraphale and Anthony smiled and chuckled as if there was a hidden joke that only they knew.

They signed, they kissed – _fucking soft_ – and Gabriel was the first one to jump up and applaud. Never had he seen Aziraphale so happy. Even Anthony was blushing. “Alcohol for everyone,” he announced with a giggly smile.

 

“There will be a protest outside the church,” Pepper informed Gabriel. He emptied another glass of champagne in one go. He hummed. He still hadn’t heard from the bishopric. “People love what you’re doing, pater,” she told him.

“Very kind of them,” Gabriel smiled forcefully, “there’re enough who hate me, too.”

“We’ll keep those under control,” Pepper promised him, and her face was so sinister when she said it that Gabriel was actually scared.

At that moment, Anthony and Aziraphale stepped closer to them. Gabriel swallowed. “So, husbands, huh?” he said, smiling. They even let him hug them. Casually, he mentioned, “She did not use your full name, I think that’s against the law. Anthony J. Crowley? What’s the J stand for?”

“Hmm, just a J, really,” Anthony uttered, and Aziraphale laughed out loud. Gabriel smiled. Aziraphale was so happy. He deserved it. Just then, other guests greeted Gabriel. Everyone told him about how great they found him marrying off the couple in church. They encouraged him. Anathema did, too.

“Not to sound snoopy,” Gabriel said to her afterwards, “but do you want to get married, too? What about that Newt fellow, is he still around?”

“Someday I’ll marry him,” she said and drank from her bottle of champagne, “that old lesbian.”

Gabriel didn’t reply to that.

When he went home that day, he was stopped by someone calling his name right as he was about to unlock his front door.

“Ah!”

“Oh, have I scared you, pater?”

Gabriel knew that voice. He turned around to find Dean Sandalphon standing on the sidewalk. He was wearing the single most hideous suit Gabriel had ever laid his eyes upon, and he smiled thinly.

“Good evening to you, too,” Gabriel said. “Can I do anything for you? Or would you just get lost?”

“Oh, I just wanted to tell you something. Don’t worry, it’s nothing too important,” Sandalphon said, still smiling. “I’m here to remind you, pater, that that homosexual union won’t be forged in our church. It won’t happen. I thought I should remind you of that, because you do not seem to be wanting to stop your efforts.”

“I’m not stopping, indeed,” Gabriel said, irritated and tired. “You’re distancing yourself further and further from God,” Sandalphon said and put his hands in his ugly coat’s pockets. What color was that? Dark orange? Mustard? Gabriel blinked. “Is this a threat?”

“No,” Sandalphon grinned. “Think of it as a friendly reminder instead.”

“Very friendly.”

“We know that you have been keeping in touch with the press. And that black women’s libber from the internet. And her sheep followers.”

“So?” Gabriel was very much fed up with this conversation. The key was still in the lock, all he had to do was turn it around and enter his house.

“I didn’t think you’d lower yourself to that annoying level.”

“You know what I find annoying? The color of that thing you’re wearing,” Gabriel snapped, and the dean’s face hardened. “I wonder if we would be so lucky to have you stop your efforts after your deposition.” His eyes sparkled. “I’m also thinking about excommunication.”

“Great,” Gabriel said and finally let go of the key in his hand, just to step closer to that douche. “Then I’ll be on the same list as all the women who had abortions or emergency contraception. Fine with me.”

“We do our best,” Sandalphon grinned, “but only God can truly judge them. Doesn’t hurt if we help a little bit though, don’t you think? The Lord endorses excommunication of those unworthy of his love.”

“I think,” Gabriel growled, careful not to raise his voice, “that you should start excommunicating the child rapists that are going their merry ways, how about that for a start, hm? The Lord would endorse that, I feel.”

“Do you? Funny, seeing how you’re a sodomite yourself,” Sandalphon said with raised eyebrows, and Gabriel faltered. “Curious how things connect… But you can be healed, pater. Conversion therapy is thriving. Think about it.”

Gabriel swallowed. He chest hurt. “You are,” he gasped out, “the absolute fucking worst.”

“The worst goes to hell, Gabriel,” he said. “And that won’t be me.”

Gabriel exhaled, turned on his heels and rushed into his house. Originally he wanted to clap the door shut with energy, but his head was too confused and his hands too shaky, so he kind of just closed it and slit down the wall behind him. He had to get away from this somehow. But he couldn’t run. Not until Aziraphale and Anthony left the church with their wedding rings and an entry in the church register.

 

The next days were all about wedding preparations. Gabriel went through the procedure with his deacons and instructed the organist. Anthony’s music taste was… special. But they wanted Mendelssohn’s Wedding March for the entry. That was a classic. Gabriel had taken care of the baptismal certificates before, but now he had to visit the two a last time for the marriage talk and the wedding preparation report. “You know you don’t actually need this to get married,” Gabriel reminded them when they had sat down with hot cups.

“We want it all official,” Aziraphale said and started filling in. “You’re not confirmed, are you?” he asked Anthony, who shook his head. “No problem,” Gabriel said, “as long as you’re christened, we’ll be fine.” And so, they went through it, bit by bit.

“Who will be the witnesses?” Gabriel asked. “Same as last week,” Anthony said and adjusted his shades. “Mrs. Ashtoreth and Mr. Francis.” He spoke all tensely, and Gabriel’s face softened. “Alright then. Being excited is very normal, Anthony, just remember to calm down again,” he said.

“I am calm,” Anthony lied and shifted. “It’s just… the big day, you know.”

Aziraphale smiled and took his hand to comfort him.

Gabriel felt himself smile as well. He couldn’t help it. “Y’know, usually I’d now tell the lovely couple that they have to remember to always stay together, to support one another and never leave, even after they’ve had a bad fight or something. They would nod and sign and I’d be on my way, getting a sandwich. But with you two…” He looked down. “You already know. I don’t need to tell you.”

“I’m getting emotional, stop it,” Anthony begged with a cracking voice, and Gabriel gently punched him. “Wait ‘til tomorrow. You will be bawling.”

“Don’t tease him,” Aziraphale begged tenderly. There was silence. “I’m happy for you,” Gabriel said. “And you’ve chosen a great wedding motto from the Bible, too.”

“I’m afraid a lot of couples choose something from the first letter to the Corinthians. Nothing special,” Aziraphale sighed, but Gabriel smiled at them encouragingly. “Who cares? It’s for you. That makes it special. It’s wonderful.”

When he walked home that night, Gabriel felt strange. He was anxious to go through the day’s mail. There were angry letters from old people and some ads. But there was nothing from the bishopric.

He would get his friends married off, even if it was the last thing he’d do. Well, it definitely was the last thing, pretty much.

He made himself T-Ravs, prayed and went to bed.

 

* * *

 

“You said there would be two hundred,” Gabriel crunched.

“Well, some more came,” Pepper said deadpan. They looked at the mess that was going on in front of the church in Westminster: demonstrators calling and holding up signs with quotes from the Bible (pretty damn unreflectively so, Gabriel though), counterdemonstrators which rainbow flags and loud music, countless journalists and camera teams, and even Sandalphon was there, accompanied by other disapproving priests. “It’s really fucking noisy out here,” Gabriel growled. He’s had enough. Aziraphale and Anthony would soon be here, he had to go inside. He would not bother with these idiots any longer.

“You,” he called over the noise and pointed an assertive finger towards Sandalphon, “will not step any closer, you hear me?”

“I’m surprised you made it this far, pater,” Sandalphon spat back. “Faggot!” someone from the crowd called, and Pepper glared at the group, so that they stepped back, behind the church’s gateway. “And stay there,” she snarled.

“And you,” Gabriel said to the journalists with the same finger, “no filming inside, you understand? You stay outside.”

“Very well,” one reporter answered, “but, pater, do you have time for a quick question?”

“No, I don’t. And you,” he called towards the rainbow group, “turn down that music! We want to listen to Schubert!” All tensed up, he turned to Pepper. “Don’t worry,” she said, “Adam, me and the others will keep them out.”

“Good. Thanks, buddy.” He gave her a brief wink and went inside. The noise wasn’t as bad in here. And the flowers were nice. All white. Anthony had good taste after all. And once the doors would be closed, they would be amongst themselves. Except for Adam and the others, everyone was seated and waiting for the couple to arrive. Five minutes to go. “Almighty,” Gabriel prayed under his breath, “grant us success.”

Now there were police sirens. Great. “Grant us success,” Gabriel said louder, but not without disappointment. I don’t care about myself, he added, but this is his big day. Their big day. Make it a good one, will you?

He placed himself in front of the altar, and just then Aziraphale’s blond head popped up in the doorframe, looking straight at him. His eyes were widened in horror, and normally Gabriel would’ve looked equally horrified, but Aziraphale was just too damn gorgeous in his stupid white suit. So Gabriel just gave him a weary thumbs-up and pointed the organist to play. And Aziraphale and Anthony stumbled in. (Mrs. Ashtoreth was old, but a woman of action, and closed the door behind them with great vigor.) And as Mendelssohn’s March played and everyone stood and admired the couple and looked into these two happy faces, lit by the colors of the stained-glass windows, Gabriel felt himself relax.

Thank you, he prayed. But why in God’s name is he still wearing shades?

The two lovebirds sat down, and clearly Aziraphale was a whole lot calmer than his husband. He smelled. Anthony must’ve drunken beforehand. Gabriel could not see his eyes, but his whole body screamed his nervousness in everyone’s face. Poor guy.

After a prayer, Gabriel greeted everyone. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the greatest gift of all,” he said and couldn’t help but smile at the couple. Aziraphale radiated so much bliss, so much joy and thankfulness – it was intoxicating. And the divine service was so wonderful. God was with them. Sooner than Gabriel would’ve thought, Schubert’s quartet played, and then it was time for the espousal.

Gabriel straightened up. He still couldn’t help but grin like an idiot. “Anthony and Aziraphale, have you come here to enter into Marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly?” he asked in his absolute best priest voice. “And are you prepared, as you follow the path of Marriage, to love and honor each other for as long as you both shall live?”

Aziraphale shivered. “I am.” Anthony’s answer followed a few seconds later.

“Since it is your intention to enter into the covenant of Holy Matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church.”

Aziraphale had said his vow picture-book perfectly, but Anthony was having a bad time, apparently. Aziraphale encouraged him lovingly, and it was so cute that Gabriel was about to cry. “I take you to be my… my husband, to have and to hold from this day forward,” Anthony uttered, “for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in… in sickness and in health, to love” – he wept – “and to cherish, until death us do part, according to God’s holy law.” He only had eyes for his husband. “In the presence of God, I make this vow.”

Gabriel sucked in a breath and was afraid he spoke his next words a bit too happily, but who the fuck cared anymore. “I pronounce you husbands in front of God. And what God joins together, let no one put asunder.”

They exchanged wedding rings (Anthony shivered badly and by now, tears were flowing down his face and his shades were somewhere on the bench behind him), and Gabriel thought how he had never felt so blissful in his entire life. Had been fucking worth it, huh.

“You may now kiss,” he said, and added in his mind, you beautiful fuckers.

And boy, did they kiss. Aziraphale cupped Anthony’s face with both hands, and his husband embraced him tightly, and they kissed, dearly, heartfelt. The guests applauded. Of course Gabriel had caught himself thinking what it would be like to stand there with Aziraphale now. But he did not want to think ‘instead of Anthony’. No, they belonged.

Hallelujah.

But, of course, they would never get a fucking break.

Right after Gabriel had said his amen, the church’s door were opened, and Sandalphon and his entourage stepped in. Pepper and the others were walking beside them. “They want the church register,” she called. “This marriage,” Sandalphon called with unease, “is invalid and will be annulled by the Ecclesiastical court.”

“Err, will it though?” Gabriel asked into the silence and flapped his arms.

“This is a travesty,” Sandalphon called from across the church, and Gabriel’s eyes rushed to Aziraphale and Anthony, who clung to each other in a close embrace, eyes on the church’s door. A fear-hug. The guests murmured in anger, and then Mr. Young stood up. “How can this be travesty?” he asked, and Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically. More and more people joint the protest. Now they were screaming at each other. Anthony sat down, shuddering.

With a heavenwards sigh, Gabriel screwed up his courage and loudly proclaimed, without moving, “You will not get the church register. And you will not annul this marriage, which has been confirmed by God.” Everyone was silent and looked at him. Oh, splendid.

“I know for a fact, dean, that the bishop doesn’t oppose this union. And neither does God. But you, you should ask yourself if it is justified to storm into a house of God, trying to ruin these men’s wedding day while making a fool of yourself,” he said, eyes firmly on Sandalphon, that fucking homophobe. Gabriel felt drugged. He got high on his speech and on the guests applauding him.

“Love always wins. And you lose. So, get out of my church,” he said, smiling sweetly, but glaring nonetheless. (He was tempted to yell ‘You lose! Good day, sir!’ instead, but whatever.)

Sandalphon adjusted his clothes, swallowed, and turned around. They left. Mrs. Ashtoreth cheered loudly. And Gabriel exhaled and tumbled backwards. Aziraphale rushed to his side. “Are you alright?” He worried.

Gabriel nodded, and it caused Aziraphale to smile down on him. “You are” – he briefly hesitated – “a fucking brave man, Gabriel.”

He laughed. Finally, he could lay eyes upon that smile again. But what he said was: “Please, no cursing. This is a house of God.”

Aziraphale joined his laughing, and then Anthony helped him get up, too. Gabriel looked back and forth between them while adjusting his stole, and he smiled. “You are husbands! Phenomenal. Can I get a hallelujah?” The two intertwined their hands and giggled stupidly. So cute. “Let’s bring this home, guys, hm? There’s still one Schubert left,” Gabriel said and patted them on the back. But he blacked out.

 

* * *

 

“Well, wasn’t that a ride,” Aziraphale said. They were outside the church and had just finished their wedding photos. The guests had already gone, only the three of them were left. Gabriel had a bottle of water in his hand, his third one, and emptied it. And he felt the sun on his face. It was a sunny day.

“That dean will still cause us trouble, I’m afraid,” said Anthony as he plucked some rainbow confetti from Gabriel’s robe. “Naah, he won’t,” Gabriel went and sniffed. “I’ll take care of him. Write an ill-mannered, but well-meaning letter. Or so.”

Anthony smiled approvingly and adjusted his shades. “Thank you for today. For everything, in fact.”

“Don’t mention it,” Gabriel said, finding that he did not mind the sunglasses anymore.

“Well, we’ll shoot some more photos up in St. James’s Park. Will we see you this evening? At the party?” Aziraphale asked hopefully.

“I’ll join you later,” Gabriel said. “I need to help cleaning up here first. The demonstrators made a mess on the street. And the flowers must go, too. I’ll bring them this evening. Shame to miss the first dance though.”

Anthony laughed. “Yeah. Alright.”

“By the way,” Gabriel remembered, “I’ve always wanted to ask you where you will be spending your honeymoon.”

The two smiled at each other knowingly. “Not just our honeymoon,” Aziraphale snickered. “We bought a cottage in the South,” Anthony said, not without pride. “South Downs. Right by the ocean. Pretty idyllic.”

“Oh, nice one. Sounds good.”

“Yeah. The Bentley would only drive so far,” Anthony hissed. “Otherwise we would’ve left for Alpha Centauri.”

“Oh, stop it,” Aziraphale laughed, “poor Gabriel doesn’t know what to make of that, dearest.”

Gabriel smiled uncomfortably. “I really don’t. Not my business anyway.” His face softened again. “Enjoy your time there. Pepper’s interviews can wait.”

“They bloody can,” Anthony said and slung an arm around his husband. “So, we’ll see you this evening?”

“Sure.”

“Great, I’m looking forward to seeing you there,” Aziraphale smiled. “No dress-code.”

“Yeah, but no preaching gown, or else people might mistake you for the late-night stripper,” Anthony recommended helpfully.

They said goodbye and walked away, holding hands. And as the Bentley drove away, with its flowers and metal cans, Gabriel turned and entered the church again. He picked up some confetti from outside and watched the sunrays light up the stained-glass windows. Strangely calm, he stopped in front of the statue of Mary. “Thank you, too,” he said with charming nonchalance, but naturally, she was unimpressed with him. But she smiled, nonetheless. Graciously.

 

_1 Corinthians 13, 1-2 and 13: If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love._

**Author's Note:**

> This was so much fun to write! I got some more Gabriel centered wips, but will I ever finish them lmao? Thank you for reading! ♡
> 
> If you like, please tell me your thoughts in the comments, I always appreciate hearing them!  
> Or check out the extended version (+16k) for more of this :')


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